The World of Cowboy Bebop
by sweet-garbonzo
Summary: Stories from the world of Bebop. New chapter "Nostalgia Blues", involving Spike and an old friend.
1. Ace and Joker

Hello there, faithful reader! Tis Sweet Garbonzo greeting you. I happen to be one of those easily distracted types of writer. I can never write more than a few pages, so obviously, I'm stuck with a lot of one shots. So I decided to collaborate all my various writings and bring them all together for one big sucky fan fiction! Wooot! 

So here it is, starting with: **Ace and Joker!**   
AN: I wrote this a while back, and although it's not my favorite, it's not too bad. It's one of my a day in the life pieces. I like to explore the culture and lifestyle of the people living in the time of Cowboy Bebop. This is one of them. Enjoy. 

Barstools, tables, and tempers went flying across the room. Bodies were being injured in this   
brawl along with a lot of pride. All the while she hid behind the bar next to the bartender.   
Her cheeks were flushed, and she had spilled a customer's drink all over her blouse. 

"This your first?" the bartender shouted casually over the din. She nodded her head, and   
he poured her a glass of whisky. "Here! This'll calm your nerves." 

She closed her eyes and shook her head. He shrugged and bolted the sharp drink himself. 

"Does this happen very often?" She yelled. 

"All the time," He replied. He pushed her down to the ground behind the bar. "We should   
stay down here until its over. Its safer." 

"What?!" 

"Safer!!" 

Three days after moving to the big city and one hour after getting her first job, and she   
was already near tears. She rubbed her name tag bearing 'Tina' dry and flinched as a   
bottle crashed next to her. The bartender patted her on the shoulder. 

"Don't worry about it! Its just some stupid kid challenging Ace." She wasn't sure who   
exactly 'Ace' was, but he seemed a force to be reckoned with. She could hear cries of   
pain on the other side of her shelter, and she was glad she was behind it. 

After a few more minutes of waiting, the bartender supposed it was time to emerge. The   
both of them rose to find the bar in ruins, and most of their customers gone. The   
bartender sighed and rolled his eyes. 

"Business as usual," he quipped. The witless victim of 'Ace' lay in a crumple on the floor, and   
Ace, sat nonchalantly in a chair, his feet propped up on the bar. 

"Ace..." the bartender said in a serious manner. "You can't keep doing this." 

"But don't I?" he replied. If his eyes hadn't been hidden by his hat, the bartender would   
have seen a humored man. 

The bartender contemplated his remark for a moment, then walked towards the pile of   
bones moaning on the ground. "I'll take him to the hospital or something... you can help   
her clean up." Tina opened her mouth to complain, but seeing as how this was her first   
day on the job, she kept quiet. 

"So," Ace said after the bartender had left, "you're a new face." 

"I guess," she said quietly, picking up pieces of glass off the counter. She looked up and a   
look in his hazel eyes made her freeze. 

"Don't bother," he told her, "Harry will take care of it. He likes to act all mad, but he really   
gets a kick out of it." 

"Ahuh..." she finally managed to reply. She scrubbed the counter with a dingy gray rag   
from God knows where for a while. Her cheeks were blushing, but she couldn't tell if it was   
from the excitement of the evening, or from being alone in a bar with a stranger. 

"Well ain't ya gonna tell me your name, Missy?" 

"Can't you read the tag?" She pointed to the aformentioned. He set his feet on the   
ground, and squinted at the lettering. 

"Tanya?" 

"No. Tina." 

"Well that's a pretty name. Why the hell is a girl like you working in a hell hole like this?" 

"Obviously I needed a job. And there isn't much decent work for a girl in Tharsis." She tried   
her best to ignore him and nearly scrubbed the varnish off of countertop. 

"You just don't seem the type that's all," He told her matter-of-factly. 

"Oh really?" she asked sarcastically, "And what type am I?" 

"Judging by the way you screamed when we was yelling, you ain't used to fights. I bet   
you're a country girl. Might even be from Ganymede." He stole a glance at her, and she   
subconciously froze again. Something about him made her lose control of her senses. She   
shook her head, blinked, and looked up. 

"I just don't understand why people need to fight like that. You could have gotten hurt."   
She perked her head up and looked at him sternly. "It wasn't a good idea." 

He looked at her seriously for a moment, and burst into a storm of laughter. She glared at   
him, and continued to clean the counters. When he finished laughing, he grabbed her   
arm and forced her to look at her. 

"How many years of therapy have you had?" he asked her. 

"What?!" 

"Answer the question," he demanded. She let go of the rag and started snapping her   
fingers. It was something she did when she was nervous. 

"Three. I don't know how that's any of your damn business, but I've had three." 

"For what?" he asked her curiously. She hesitated, and answered: 

"I have chronic fear." 

He let go of her arm, and smirked. "Is that all? And to think you work here, of all places." 

"Sheila said it would help me overcome my fear." Her snapping became louder. 

"Who?" 

"My therapist." Her rag lay lifeless on the counter, and she grabbed a cigarette from   
somewhere in her dress. She offered him one, but he refused, saying it was 'bad for his   
health.' 

"Oh really?" she asked as she lit up, "And fighting is?" 

Silently he sat for a long while, contemplating his answer. She waited patiently, flicking her   
ashes away and snapping her fingers absentmindedly. 

He smiled in an ancient way, making him appear timeless. Finally, he was ready to answer. 

"Honey, I've been fighting my whole life. One thing or another, its been a fight for   
something. Its the only way I know how. I've got a bounty on my head too high to count,   
and its only gonna get higher. So why let it get me? Sometimes you gotta take life by the   
balls, kid, and hold on with all you got." He plucked the dying cigarette from her mouth,   
and exstinguished it on the freshly cleaned countertop. 

Questions filled her mind, but she only knew silence. He had called her 'kid', but he couldn't   
have been much older than her. She felt so young and naive, and it made her feel   
vulnerable. How in the world was she going to survive in times like these, when hard luck   
made a young man old, and a girl feel afraid of everything? 

He rose from his seat, tipped his hat to her, and walked out the door like he owned the   
place. She just stood there, watching him leave. The door had fallen off its hinges, and   
she could see the deep shades of dark blue swirling with the clouds in the sky. She felt   
numb as she tore off the name tag pinned to her chest. The night sky danced with the   
stars as she jogged to catch up to him, calling his name. 

He turned and saw her catching her breath. Her face was flushed. She looked up and into   
his eyes, and she smiled in a way she had never smiled before. Returning the gesture, he   
smiled and took her hand. As they walked far away from that hell hole of a bar, she said, 

"If you're Ace, than I must be the Queen of Hearts." 

"No," he replied, "You're the joker baby." 

***** 

Yeah, I know... not that good. But, the rest is better! I promise!! 


	2. Ashes

**Ashes** a sweet garbonzo one shot.   
I really like this one, and I hope you do too. To clarify, the "gruff man" (as I often like to   
describe him) is Jet. The reason I don't name him is because the story is from the   
perspective of someone watching from a distance. You're really not supposed to know   
who it is, but if you're a fan of Cowboy Bebop, you of course will.   
Enjoy! ^_^ 

***** 

The funeral processes were dying down at this point in the evening, and most of the   
mourners had already left. The only people still standing by the ocean shore were two   
complete strangers, only together by circumstance. One was a gruff looking man, worn   
around the edges and someone you didn't want to mess with. The other was a teenage   
girl, wearing her sunday best and holding a sun bonnet in her hands. The older man was   
taking a drag from a cigarette, while the young girl simply watched the breeze. 

When the man finished his cigarette, he stamped it out and turned to leave. He was   
interupted by a small voice. 

"How did you know him?" she asked curiously. "I don't mean to be rude.. it's just that he   
was my uncle, and I didn't know anybody here today." The man looked at her and tried   
to give her a smile. It was rough and forced looking. 

"Just an aquaintance," he replied. He started getting the feeling the girl didn't want to be   
alone. 

"I see," she replied. "He seemed to have a lot of those." She took a long deep breath of the   
ocean air. Closing her eyes and smiling, she said "He always wanted to have his ashes   
spread over the oceans of Ganymede. He just loved it here." She spread her arms wide,   
as if she was trying to catch the wind itself. 

"Yeah," the gruff man replied. "He never was cut out for police work." 

"So you worked with him?" she asked. He nodded. 

"Long time ago." He scratched behind his ear to distract from his uncomfortableness. Here   
he was,talking to a teenage girl he had never met before, when all he wanted was to   
head back to the ship and tend to his bonsai. 

"You don't seem like a cop." His doubtful look made her laugh. "What I mean is, you don't   
look like a dishonest cop. Everyone knows the syndicate owns the ISSP." 

"That's why I got out of the force," he told her, not knowing quite sure why. "I don't do   
business that way." 

The girl was silent for a while. The sun was starting to set, and the old man was itching to   
leave. 

"Listen," he finally said, "if you need someway home, I could walk you-" 

"Tell me," she said with a shaky voice, "did he....did my uncle.... was he a good cop?" She   
looked into his eyes, knowing that the truth would be there, no matter what his words   
said. 

"He was a good man by nature...." he stopped and sighed, knowing he couldn't lie to this   
girl. "A few years in, he started selling information. That's all." 

The girl stood in silence. Her knuckles were white from gripping so hard on the hat in her   
hands. The man was waiting for her to speak, so she finally did. 

"He was a good man," she told him. "He took care of me. But... he had no excuse for what   
he did. And he paid for it with his life." She was stern in her words, and the older man   
knew she believed every word she said. 

"Some people just aren't strong enough," he replied. "Sometimes, it takes a certain kind of   
person to forgive." He looked at her with honest eyes, and she nodded her head. 

"Yeah," she softly smiled, in spite of herself, "but it also takes a certain kind of person to   
stand here listening to me ramble like this." He stared at her, not quite sure what to think,   
until he laughed heartily. 

"You're right," he told her. "Come on," he said, "I'll walk you home." 

"No thanks," she replied. "I'm already there." 

***** 

** That's all folks. **This is a personal favorite. I wrote it after a friend of my father's passed away. I hope you liked it, review if you wish. 


	3. It's a Living

**It's a Living** By, sweet garbonzo ^_^   
This was a gift for my friend Kayla. I wrote it a few months ago, but now I've finally posted it. Enjoy. 

***** 

On friday nights in Alba city, the lights were always blazing and it seemed the entire town   
came out for the night life. Clubs were filled to the brim with excited teenagers and   
young barhoppers. Rain began pelting down, so the latenighters were taking refuge in   
whatever place they could find that would take them in. The weekend was certainly the   
best part of the week. 

But one lone figure, huddled in a thin transparent rainjacket, wouldn't be spending her   
Friday night in fun. A teenager, riddled with zits and freckles, jogged angrily through the   
rain. Her light red hair was soaked and clinging to her neck. The rain trickling down her   
back was making her shiver, but the cold outside was nothing to the red hot anger boiling   
inside this girl's soul. Apparently finding her destination, she opened the door of a   
convienence store and shut it behind her. 

The bell that signalled a customer caught the attention of a young man dressed in an   
eyecatching blue button-up jacket that seemed to sparkle as he walked. He had on a   
sleek pair of sunglasses for God knows what reason. He smiled smoothly at the rumpled up   
girl in the wet raincoat with her arms crossed dangerously. The look on her face was just as   
hazardous. 

"Oh good! I was wondering when you'd get here," he greeted her, dazzling smile and all.   
She stripped off the raincoat and threw it on the counter displaying various chewing gums   
and candies. 

"This is your shift. This is your night to work. You better have a damn good excuse for calling   
me in. And since you're not dead, it had better be extra original." Her blue eyes flashed   
like sharp steel against his twinkling green ones. 

"Listen Kay," he began, "Tonight's my granny's birthday. I'd hate to work on Granny's   
birthday. Especially since it's probably her last-" 

"Fuck you Mac! What grandson goes to visit his family in that outfit? You just want to go   
barhopping." He smiled and winked as he tossed the keys to her. She caught them deftly,   
without taking an eye off him. 

"Lock up when you're done sugar," He told her as he breezed through the door.   
Miraculously, the rain had stopped seconds before he left. The left side of her face gave a   
little twitch before she finally relented and took her post behind the counter. Hopefully, it   
would be a slow night. 

And at first, it was. Most of the customers she had to serve were quiet and quick about   
their business. A young man came in, for an emergency diaper run it appeared, and a   
young woman wearing a dark veil was browsing the aisle for snack chips. Kay only had to   
check id once, for a lanky fuzzy haired man who wanted some Marlboro Reds. The man   
he came in with stood silently by the door, as if waiting for something. She brushed off his   
weird behavior while the fuzzy haired one paid for his smokes and some instant ramen. 

"Would you be interested in our Consumer Club Card?" Kay asked monotonously. The   
fuzzhead nodded. She blinked, shook her head, and asked "Really?" 

"Yeah, whatever," he replied. 

"But...nobody ever wants the Consumer Club Card. They just make me ask all the   
customers." 

"Explain the whole thing to me then," he said. It was not a question. She rolled her eyes at   
him and cleared her throat, glancing at his buddy by the door. 

"Are you guys waiting for someone?" she asked. "There's a no loitering policy. Sorry, but   
unless you buy something more, you have to leave. Not my law, I just enforce it." The   
bulkier guy by the door huffed like she was ruining his day. 

"Just get something, Spike," he told his partner. "If he doesn't show up in 5 minutes we'll try   
somewhere else." 

"Jet," the fuzzhead hissed at him, "I don't have anymore money." 

"Then get out!" the redhead yelled. "We only like paying customers." Her bad mood was   
creeping back into her cheeks, and she didn't want to deal with some stupid thugs that   
wanted to bum the merchandise off of her. The woman from the back glanced up at the   
front counter. 

"Christ, Spike!" the gruff one said, and moving from the door, he grabbed random things off   
the shelves and threw them at the counter next to the cigarettes and the instant ramen.   
"Here! Ring it up!" 

Kay's patience was running thin. She plastered on a fake smile and nodded her head.   
After ringing up 27 packs of chewing gum and some kid's playing cards, the gruff man was   
still waiting impatiently. The lanky man, however, took a cigarette from the pack he   
hadn't yet paid for, lit it up, and took a long drag from it. He leaned against the counter   
and puffed to himself. 

"Now it's come to 3,417 woolongs. Please pay, and leave," she told them briskly. "I'm really,   
really not in the mood for this. And there's no smoking." The fuzzhead ignored her. Just as   
the gruff man pulled a wallet from his back pocket, the woman in the snack aisle came   
with a bag of chips and a soda to the front counter. She waited behind the gruff man,   
who was grabbing the items he'd paid for. 

"Come on, Spike," he grumbled irritably. "He's not coming." The fuzzhead shrugged and   
headed towards the door. Just as he passed the woman paying for her snack, he drew a   
gun and pointed it at her head. 

"Didn't think we'd recognize you, Maxim Gilberto?" he teased darkly, keeping the gun as   
close to the woman's temple as possible. She faintly smiled and raised her hands in the air. 

"Let me make a guess," she said in an unusually low and husky voice. "Bounty Hunter?" 

"Good job," the fuzzhead replied. "Your prize: a nice warm jail cell. If you'll just come with us-" 

Before the fuzzhead could finish his sentence, the woman kicked him in the groin and   
grabbed his gun. 

"You're dead bounty boy!" the psuedo woman screeched. The fuzzhead winced. She   
laughed hysterically and aimed the gun at his head. "That's a good boy. Just sit still. In a   
few minutes you'll blow up with the rest of this place." 

The gruff man rolled his eyes and grabbed the criminal from behind. His metal arm   
squeezed the bounty head's neck, causing her to panic and shoot off a few rounds. 

Meanwhile, Kay stood behind her counter and rolled her eyes. She was too angry to be   
phased by the confrontation in front of her. She was just hoping they'd leave soon.   
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, to try to calm her anger. It wasn't working. 

In the struggle, the woman's wig fell off and revealed a short, ugly man. He reached for   
his pocket, and pulled out a small remote control. He pushed a small red button and   
waited for a reaction. The reaction never came, however, and he kept jamming his finger   
on the button. 

"What the hell?!" he shrieked. "It should work! This place should be totaled!" His confusion   
was quickly replaced with rage, as he pointed his finger at the bounty hunters. "You!" 

The fuzzhead got up to his feet, grabbed the gun from the bounty head's hand, and   
chuckled. "Yep. Thanks to a hacker friend of ours, your bomb circuitry is scrambled. Now   
please, let us lead you to your new home." To emphasize his point, he briskly shoved his gun   
in the bounty head's face again. He sighed and stuck his arms out, and the gruff man   
released his grip. 

"Fine," he muttered in his defeat. After they put handcuffs on him, he asked, "How much am I worth?" 

The fuzzhead rolled his eyes. "A measly 2 million. Barely worth it." 

"ENOUGH!" a yell startled the three people in front of the counter. Kay the cashier pointed   
to the door. "Get OUT! And never come back!" They stood there frozen for a moment,   
until the gruff man led the trio out the door. 

"Think she'd appreciate the gesture," the fuzzhead mumbled. "Not everyday I manage to   
save someone's life." Kay glared at his backside as he left. 

The bell jingled behind them. She could hear their muffled voices through the glass   
windows. She sighed and rested her elbows on the counter. 

"I hate my fucking job." 

***** 

**Woot!**That was fun, wasn't it? Now, review and go eat some ice cream. 


	4. The Throne

The Throne

AN: This is a story I had to write for Amer. Lit. about Nathaniel Hawthorne's observations on people. This was about how someone wanted something so badly, and when they finally got it, it was all trouble. Like "The Monkey's Paw" or something? Yeah... anyways.

I don't own Faye, Julia, Spike, or Vicious. But this is my story (duh). Whatever. Just read.

A long time ago in France (then it was known as Gaul) there lived a princess named Faye. She was very beautiful and intelligent, and she could hold her own in a game of black jack. Every man in her kingdom wanted to marry her; that is, every man but the one she wanted herself.

He was a great knight named "Spike" because of how fiercely he fought. He had slayed many dragons in his time and was the greatest knight in France.

Princess Faye wanted to marry him, but Sir Spike only had eyes for her sister, Queen Julia. Julia was very beautiful, but not so intelligent. The thing Princess Faye wanted more than anything was to be Queen. "Then Sir Spike will notice me!" she told herself.

Then one day she received a messenger with grim news. Her sister Julia had died of a mysterious illness. Princess Faye ascended the throne the next day and became known as Queen Faye. She was sad for her sister's death, but hopeful that Sir Spike would notice her.

Faye's advisors explained Absolutism to her, and she said "That is a good idea." The same year Queen Faye came into power, a horrible famine attacked her country. Her people were starving and became angry with Queen Faye. They revolted and attacked her castle.

Queen Faye was not worried, however, because she was safe in her castle walls. She had bodyguards to protect her and keep her safe. In the middle of a black jack game she received a message that her opposing countries were attacking France. Without the support and firepower of her people, France was left unprotected, and Queen Faye was forced to escape her kingdom.

She escaped successfully, but had to live as a peasant for the rest of her life. When she asked the whereabouts of Sir Spike, she was sad to learn that he had been killed by a vicious red dragon. She threw away her crown and became the first gypsy in the world. She never saw the throne again.

The End.

Notes: I think it absolutely sucks. This is something I threw together in five minutes before class, but I managed to get a B+ on it, somehow. ^_^ I just thought I'd post it as a joke with my friends and also as something I can look back on and think "Wow, I really do suck! Great! =D" ...anyways... go read something better


	5. Nostalgia Blues

****

Nostalgia Blues

By Sweet Garbonzo

Miep Adler sat in her modest apartment, like she always did on a Friday night, alone. She had never been very skilled at relationships, and it had left her somewhat lonely. She would be thirty in a few years, and in her mind she could see a black door with her name on it being guarded by the Grim Reaper. Time was slipping from her hands, and it seemed so much more apparent whenever she was alone.

She walked across her bedroom and turned on a desk lamp on her vanity. She picked up a small brush and ran it through her dark brown hair. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she stopped brushing her hair to inspect her image once more. What she saw was a fairly pretty woman in her late twenties, with shoulder length hair and dull, gray eyes. She sighed, placed the brush in front of the mirror, and walked to the living room.

Miep sat in a recliner and grabbed a book to read. It was her nightly routine, after she graded school papers, to sit down with an enjoyable book. Most of the books she owned were antiques and hard to come by. The book she held in her hand was faded and worn. She flipped through the pages and became more and more involved in the story. She did not notice the knock at her door until she heard mumbled shouting coming from the other side.

_Odd,_ she thought. _It's nearly 12 o' clock. _She placed the book on the coffee table in front of her chair and walked towards the door. Before unhooking the latch, she looked through the eyehole. It was a man she couldn't recognize, wearing a blue suit and clutching his right arm. 

"Who is it?" She asked, slightly afraid of opening the door. She knew you could never be too careful on Mars.

"Open up Miep," the man yelled from the other side.

"I don't even know you. You could be a murderer, or some weirdo on a drug high," she replied, inwardly rolling her eyes at her own words. But still, there were a lot of weirdoes in her neighborhood, and she didn't want to take any chances.

"Miep, seriously, let me in," the voice answered. "I need help. I don't know where my ship is and I need some medical attention."

"How do you know my name?" She asked defensively, taking a step back from the door. "Who have you been talking to? Stay away!" She turned around and began walking down the hallway to her bedroom.

"Miep," the voice said, now in a soothing, comfortable voice, "remember when we were kids, you wanted to be trapeze artist until you broke your arm jumping from my roof." She stopped. A chill ran down her spine, and her flesh went cold. Turning around, she stood to face the door. 

"But...anyone could know that. You could have asked my mother or something."

"When you were thirteen, you had a crush on my brother. I know you didn't tell anyone else about that."

She gasped, clutching her throat. Hurriedly, she unlocked the door and stared at the man in front of her. On closer inspection, he was soaking wet from the rain outside. His hair was a wild mess of dark tangles, and the arm he was clutching was stained a deep crimson. But all of this went unnoticed by Miep, who was nearly speechless.

"...Peter?" She asked, unsure if she was dreaming or if it was real. He stood there in front of her in the doorway.

"You gonna invite me in?" He asked, amused at her awe. She nodded her head pointed to the livingroom.

"Take a seat," she told him. He sat in her blue recliner, and she shut the door behind her.

"You should probably lock it," he said. She locked the door, and headed to the kitchen down the hall.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To get the first aid kit. And some cognac."

"I'll take some of that," he replied, still clutching his wounded arm. He looked around the place. A small TV sat in the corner opposite the door, and a blue couch that matched the chair he was sitting in was facing him. An old wooden bookshelf was next to his chair. He propped his feet on the coffee table next to the old book, and saw framed pictures of her family on the wall. He noticed she was missing pictures of her father.

She returned, first aid kit and cognac in hand. She set the bottle on the table and shoved his feet onto the floor. Opening the first aid kit, she removed gauze and some alcohol.

"Not that. Anything but that."

"Take off your shirt, and just hold still," She told him. He slowly and painfully removed his shirt, along with his gun and cigarettes. She dipped the alcohol in a cotton ball, which made him wince.

"Don't put that on my arm. I will kill you a thousand times over if you put that on my arm."

"It's not for your arm, silly," she said. "It's for this." She swabbed the cotton ball across a cut on his face, which made him squirm in his seat. She rolled her eyes. "Baby."

She began treating the wound on his arm, taking care to be gentle and she wrapped it in gauze. They sat there in silence, she focusing on her work, he staring at her. Finally, she closed the first aid kit, and took a sip from the bottle of cognac. He put his yellow shirt on, watching her as she sat on the coffee table in front of him.

"Peter," she said at last. He smirked.

"I had forgotten that name. Nobody calls me that anymore."

"I'll be damned if I call you 'Spike.' What the hell kind of name is that?"

"Just something I acquired," he said nonchalantly, sticking his pinky in his ear. Miep sighed.

"Why did you come back? Why now, why not before?" He shrugged.

"Like I said, I needed help. I lost communication with my partner and well...I really wasn't interested in going to the hospital." His gaze shifted across the room, glancing in every direction but hers. 

"Partner?"

"I'm a bounty hunter." She laughed.

"Oh please! I thought that was just a childhood game of yours. You can't possibly make any money doing that."

"I seem to make plenty of enemies," he said with a smirk. She bit her lip, something she always did whenever she felt nervous or upset.

"Annie told me you had died." He finally looked at her.

"In a way, I did. I left the syndicate, left that whole life behind me, and started a new one."

"Things aren't ever that easy, Peter," Miep told him truthfully. He ignored her comment.

"Why don't you have any pictures of Frank?" She took in a sharp breath.

"It's too dangerous," she replied after a long silence. "If certain people knew he was my father, I would be in serious trouble."

"That may be," he said, "but I'm sure Frank doesn't appreciate it." 

"You know my father is dead," she said in a dark, brooding voice. He grabbed the bottle of cognac from her.

"So, Miep Adler, what have you been doing lately?" Spike asked her. Her lip was beginning to feel sore.

"You never change. Always playing it cool. I hate you. You always made me feel stupid." He laughed, which brought a smile to her face.

"You don't mean that."

"Yeah, if you say so."

"So," he said, "you must be a dental assistant. Or a nurse."

"Oh funny. I'm a teacher. I teach German kids how to speak English. There are a lot in this part of the city. English is coming back as a standard language." She fiddled with her fingers as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and took one out. After quitting smoking years ago, it was difficult to watch someone else do it in front of her.

"Little school teacher, huh?" He asked as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. "I bet you break all the boys' hearts." She snorted.

"Hardly. They all think of me as a wench." He took a swig of cognac and noticed for the first time a picture of his older brother next to the other family portraits.

"Thomas." He nodded his head in the direction of the photo, which made her turn to look at it. It always gave her a sick feeling in her stomach to look at that old, dusty photo on the wall. 

"You should have married him," he told her, "while you had the chance." She shook her head, a nostalgic smile on her face.

"I'd rather die an old maid than be married to a dead man," she told him matter-of-factly, although she mostly said it to convince herself that it was true.

"Just think of the insurance money you could have had. And he had a really nice car too."

"That's not funny Peter," she said coldly. The smile on his face was replaced with a frown.

"Miep," he replied in a soft, soothing voice. 

"It's not funny at all! The Syndicate destroys lives! It killed my father, it killed Thomas, and someday, it's going to kill you."

She was silent, wishing she could take back the words aimed at Spike. She couldn't admit it out loud, but she didn't want to lose him. He was the only piece of Thomas she had left, even if she hadn't seen him in years. She knew those sort of words would hurt him as much as it hurt her to say them.

"You're right." She looked up, tears brimming her eyes. His stayed dry as a bone. "I probably will be killed by them eventually. But whatever happens, happens." He flicked his cigarette in an ashtray next to the chair that Miep had kept out of habit. Her eyes flickered with anger. 

"That's not true, Peter! You may feel that way, but I don't. You're actions affect the people around you. People that care. You think about yourself too much." She glared at him, but he only stared back. The look on his face was indecipherable. Usually, she was one of the few people who could tell what he was thinking. He seemed to master his art of poker face over the years.

"Do you still have it?" He asked suddenly, waking her up from her wandering mind. She was confused by this question.

"Have what?"

He picked up his jacket and fished around the pockets inside. He finally pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it too her. She chuckled in surprise as she read it aloud.

"'Peter Spiegel, the coolest guy on Mars, will always be best friends with Miep Adler. November 12, 2052.'" A red thumbprint was at the bottom of the note. "My God, Peter, you sure keep a hold of things."

"Where's yours?" he asked. She handed his piece of paper back to him. Getting up, she went to the bookshelf, and picked up a small box. She opened it, and pulled out her piece of paper. She gave it to him, and he read it to himself.

_I, Miep Adler, the ultimate in cool, will be friends forever with Peter Spiegel (who is just a goofball). November 12, 2052. _There at the bottom, was another red thumbprint.

After Spike read it, she took it and put it back in the box, which she placed on the shelf. She sighed, and looked at him.

"Things are so different now, though. To be honest, I haven't thought about you much in the past five years. When was the last time I saw you? I had to have been in college."

"It was Thomas' funeral." She got a far away look in he eyes, thinking of times when Thomas' name wasn't just a memory. 

"Does it make you sad," she asked him, "that your brother has died?" He thought in silence for a long time. She knew he didn't like talking about things like this.

"No."

"But Peter! He was killed! Killed in that stupid gang." She sat on the coffee table again, and swiped the cognac from Spike. "He died in vain, over a stupid street war."

"He died because of you," Spike replied. She looked up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You're lying. That's not true, this has nothing to do with me." He had that look on his face again.

"Some people on the inside...they wanted you out of the picture. You're right, being Frank's daughter isn't an advantage in life." He glanced at the photo of Thomas on the wall, who was grinning, oblivious to the fact that he was dead. "Thomas tried to stop them. You're the reason he's dead." 

She was starting to feel dizzy, and cold sweat trickled down her back. Thomas, dead because of her! It was an idea she hadn't thought possible. She had no words to express her feelings at that exact moment. The world felt dark and lonely.

"Miep," Spike said, taking her by the hand, "It wasn't your fault. He decided to die. No one could have stopped him. It was his choice. Whatever happens, happens, right?"

"Yeah," she said, not completely listening to his words. "Happens."

*****

"So where have you been, lazy bones?" Faye asked shrewdly. She looked quite lazy herself, lounging on the couch, which Spike had clearly claimed on numerous occasions to be his own. The fact that Jet paid for the couch in the first place never fully crossed his mind.

"Is it ever your business, Faye?" he grumbled, walking towards his room. She turned around on the couch, watching him walk away. Something seemed to be bothering him, and as curious as she was, Faye realized it was probably a bad idea to pry. She turned back around and continued watching Big Shot.

Spike, once he got into his room, flopped onto his bed, exhausted. The bounty which had given him the wound in his arm was tough, and it was lucky he had remembered where Miep lived. Meeting people from his past always made him feel misty and nostalgic. It was a feeling he both loved to indulge in and hated with a passion. Like a strong drug, in the aftermath it left him feeling empty and lost.

He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket. It was crisp and new looking, a clean, fresh white color. He read it to himself, and smiled.

_I, Peter Spiegel, will always be best friends with Miep Adler, even in death. March 4, 2071._

He tossed the note on the floor and began drifting to sleep, the one place he knew to be a dream.

_Whatever happens. Happens._

SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY.

AN: A story that turned into a lot more than I was expecting. When I began writing this, I just wanted a story with the name "Miep" in it. Somehow, it turned into a Cowboy Bebop story. =P Review, flame, whatever, just have a nice day, and tell your family you love them. ^__^


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